


fists up, chin down, we've got bruises to spare

by skylights



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Depowered, Krav maga shenanigans, M/M, attempted humour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:37:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylights/pseuds/skylights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Advanced krav maga instructor Erik Lehnsherr has no fucking time or patience for newbies, but when Hank can’t take the beginners class for the next month or so because he’s off being a complete and utter nerd in Massachusetts, Erik’s saddled with teaching Krav Maga 101: Baby Badasses in Training.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fists up, chin down, we've got bruises to spare

**Author's Note:**

> As most AUs start, this was birthed from asking myself: I wonder if it's possible to Cherik this?
> 
> Mostly written on the tram while coming home from krav maga class. Pointless, self-indulgent, and an excellent example of what not to take away from class.

Advanced krav maga instructor Erik Lehnsherr has no fucking time or patience for newbies, but when Hank can’t take the beginners class for the next month or so because he’s off being a complete and utter nerd in Massachusetts, Erik’s saddled with teaching Krav Maga 101: Baby Badasses in Training.

Which means one hour slots three times a week, for the rest of September and G-d forbid, maybe even October. One hour every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, sixty full minutes of correcting stances, shouting at the wimps who’re gasping for air on the mats, and putting the fear of G-d into students who dare to even _move_ when he’s speaking.

Erik would be pissed at the waste of his time and talent, because honestly now, even Emma can teach KM101 and she’s a fucking (terrifying) Pilates instructor, but Shaw’s word is law in this gym, so KM101 it is, or Erik’s back to street fighting for loose change.

  


* * *

  


"Everyone here for KM101?" Erik barks on the dot at 5pm. Honestly, it’s not his fault that Azazel does hot yoga in the adjacent hall and as amusing as it is for him to watch misplaced yoga enthusiasts realise that yoga generally doesn’t start with 20 burpees followed by 20 push ups, he’d really rather not have anyone cry and/or throw up all over the mats again.

There’s a murmur of agreement from the motley crew that’s assembled today, a handful of middle aged housewives/husbands mixed in with a few jumpy looking uni students who look like they’re about to balk for yoga at any second. On the far end of the line, a young-ish looking man with floppy hair smiles when Erik's gaze flickers over to him and Erik privately singles out floppy-hair as Guy Who Will Probably Not Come Back Again, lumping him in conveniently together with The House-spouses Who Will Definitely Not Come Back Again.

It’s only Erik’s second KM101 class and he’s trimmed the fifteen attendees from last Friday down to three wary looking people, the new seven this Monday obviously having no idea what’s going to happen next. If they did, Erik would bet good money that a lot of them probably wouldn’t be standing here. Willingly, anyways. 

"Okay, good." Erik starts a slow pace up and down the line, voice pitched loud enough to echo across the room. "I’m Erik and I’ll be subbing in for Hank for the next couple of weeks, or at least until he gets back. Hank’s the guy who usually takes KM101 and straight off the bat, I’m going to let you know: he’s not as hardassed as I am. I don’t teach the 101 series for a reason, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try my best to see you all through it."

Erik stops in the middle to cross his arms, casting a critical eye at the line of students before him.

"If any of you have injuries that you think will interfere with what we’re doing, you tell me. If you don’t understand something, you ask. I’m not going to be angry if you do, but I will be if I see the results of you _not_ asking. Do I make myself clear?"

Nods all around, though there’s a lone “Yes” from the end of the line from Floppy-Hair. Huh. Erik resolutely doesn’t look over.

"Right then. Twenty push-ups to start, and none of that half-assed, knees-on-the-floor bullshit either. If you can't keep pace, slow down, but finish anyways. Those who can, keep to my count. Understood?"

A louder chorus of yeses this time and Erik drops to the ground, because leading by example and all of that feel-good leadership shit. Or maybe he's just itching to do something since in his advanced class, he'd already have someone in a chokehold by now.

"On my count. _Achat. Shtayim. Shalosh. Arba. _"__

____

  


* * *

  


As things turns out, only Floppy-Hair actually manages it through Erik's punishing warm-up routine without looking like he's on the brink of sudden death. 

"Everyone take a five minute breather, go take a sip of water," Erik calls out when the last sit-up is done and most of the class just...lies down where they are, even the uni students too winded to do anything other than remember how to breathe. Floppy-Hair, on the other, looks decidedly perky.    
Which just means that Erik now has the perfect volunteer for the first of today's demonstrations.

"You." Erik points at Floppy-Hair who's standing by the window and taking a long pull from his drink bottle. In the late evening light, Erik can't really place an actual age on the man. Boy. Whatever. "Good job with the warm up. I'll need you for a demonstration later, so if you're done, I want to show you how to take a hit without falling over the first time."

"I take it a lot of people fall over their first time?"

Erik shrugs, non-commital, while Floppy-Hair has the beginnings of a smile tugging on the ends of his mouth.

"I've seen enough to call it common. In any case, you look like you've got a better handle on this than the rest right now, so you probably won't contribute to the mean. Go grab one of round pads by the wall and meet me in the right corner."

As it turns out, Floppy-Hair's name is Charles, and Charles is…British? Erik finds this out only because it's decidedly easier to instruct someone on how to hold a focus pad while not having to worry about accidentally calling him Floppy-Hair out loud, and the British part comes mostly because Erik would have to be deaf to not hear the tightened consonants, the short, crisp vowels of Charles' speech. 

Not that Erik was paying _that_ much attention. 

"Legs further apart. Yes, like that. Firm grips as well, angle it slightly, but make sure it's not too…yes, perfect. Okay. I'm going to try a simple groin kick now, alright? For the love of all things good, _don't_ move the pad or do something stupid like adjust your body to try and avoid the kick. I've seen students do that on instinct sometimes and let me tell you, it is _not_ pretty."

Charles nods and Erik can see the other man visibly brace himself when Erik takes a few small steps back. Hands up near his face, left foot placed in front of his right and Erik lets fly with a quarter of the power he'd usually use, Charles' face breaking into a wide grin when Erik's foot makes contact with a small _thump_ against the pad.

"Easy." Erik says. "You alright?"

"Right as rain."

"Good. Now lets go show the rest."

  


* * *

  


After Erik goes through his usual spiel of _listen or die_ and _don't fuck around with this_ , he has Charles stand in front of him with the pad once again, Erik's side to the class as he speaks.

"Groin kicks are one of the most easy to do and obviously, one of the most painful. If you make it past five classes, I'll recommend that all the guys invest in a cup and mouthguard. Ladies, just the latter, but if it makes you feel better, by all means, get both. Now I want you to note how Charles is standing."

As if on cue, Charles widens his stance and braces the pad at the angle that Erik had taught him, feet planted firmly on the mat. Maybe it's the fact that Erik has terrible expectations of everyone, but Erik is grudgingly impressed.

"See this? I want this. Don't try and get clever with angles or avoidance tactics because that is _not_ what the receiver is supposed to do. You hold the pad, you receive whatever's getting dished out. Do it wrong, both parties get hurt. Am I clear?"

Yeses all around.

"Now for the kick." Like before, Erik takes a few steps back and drops into a fighting stance, glancing over at the assembled line to find all eyes thankfully still on him. "Hands up. Don't drop them. You want the leg you'll be kicking with to be at the back, like so. Bring it up, fluid motion, and you should make contact right where your shoelaces will be." Erik runs through the kick in slow motion, lightly tapping Charles' pad before dropping away again. 

"Questions?"

Vigorous head shakes. 

"Excellent. With time, you're going to look something like this." 

Because Erik is a showy asshole, he drops back easily into his stance and _kicks_ , letting out an honest to g-d growl as he throws his full power into the move, doing three quick, successive kicks. The impact of his foot hitting the pad reverbs like a fucking gunshot each time and Charles stumbles back a little with every new kick, but Erik notes that flop-…Charles' grip doesn't falter. If anything, there's a decidedly predatory look in Charles' eyes that Erik hadn't noticed before.

"Fuck," one of the students mutters reverently in the pin drop silence that falls right after and Erik grins. Someone in the line might have actually taken an involuntary step back.

"Now pair up, don't try for speed, and swap partners when I call time."

  


* * *

  


As efficient as Charles might be with following orders, he's slow as hell when it comes to packing his things. For fuck's sake, Erik thinks silently, how long does it take to shove things into a bag? Not that Erik is really complaining, since…well. If Charles manages to still look somewhat put together after a gruelling one hour class and under fluorescent lighting to boot, Erik can't find too much fault with the man's meticulousness when it comes to folding towels.

"Sorry, I'll finish up," Charles says with a hint of apology in his voice when he notices Erik hovering, the last of the students already filing out the door. 

"Don't worry about it, the next class is at 6:15."

"You teach the advanced levels?"

"Yes."

Erik turns towards where the pads are stacked, pulling a pile of them into neater order. As a general rule, he doesn't do small talk with students and most students don't want to do small talk with him either, but here Charles is, full of minor surprises.

"So you're taking the 6:15 class?"

A nod. Erik looks over his shoulder to see that Charles has his bag hoisted on one shoulder, but is still strangely still lingering.

"Would it be…" Charles shifts his weight from one sock-clad foot to the other and Erik can feel one of his eyebrows rising in question. Any other instructor would have taken pity and prompted a continuation by now, but Erik is an asshole and he knows it, so Charles will have to follow through or– "Would it be okay if I sat in and observed for a little while? I won't interfere, it's just–"

"Sure." Charles stops mid-ramble, wide smile spreading across his face. Honestly, it's like Erik just handed him a winning lottery ticket and not permission to observe a KM701 lesson. "Just take the corner near the door, we tend to use the walls a bit and you'll be in the way otherwise."

"I…" Erik blinks, and that seems to help Charles regroup. "Thanks. I'll be very quiet."

"You could yell for all I care, it's not like we'll be able to hear you once we really get into it."

"Really?"

"Watch for yourself later and then you tell me."

Charles beams again and Erik wonders if this is how some of the newbies feel when he smiles, because it leaves Erik floundering, unsure of how to react next. A smile? A nod? A manly clap on the shoulder when he leaves the room? Does Erik even have to leave the room? 

Wait, what?

Oh _fuck_.

  


* * *

  


True to word, Charles doesn't speak, doesn't move, doesn't even seem to breathe when Erik's advanced class gets underway. He's more in his element here, yelling at students in a comfortable mix of English and Hebrew that gets people scrambling for pads, for mock-knives, and on one memorable occasion, for each other's throats. 

"Brace your hands faster next time, Alex," Erik snaps at a blond youth who has just been thrown into one of the padded walls. "Try that in real life and you'll be bleeding from the back of your head before you even know what hit you."

"Sir," Alex agrees sullenly and for that, he gets a particularly vicious throw the next time, Erik snarling in his face with hands wrapped around Alex's throat until Alex regroups and counters, faux-elbowing Erik in the face before pulling him down for a knee towards the groin.

"Better," comes the half-winded praise as Erik pushes off from the wall that Alex has shoved him against. "Now try and remember that more often."

Between bouts of circling his students and inserting himself into the pairs that are starting to lag, Erik always finds his gaze wandering back to where Charles is seated. Charles, with his chin propped on one hand as he watches the class. Charles, with floppy brown hair and startlingly blue eyes tracking every pair in turn. 

Charles, with the wide smile that he reserves for Erik every time Erik looks over and their gazes meet.

Erik tells himself he's just being polite when he wanders over to Charles during the water break, but Erik's an asshole and a liar, so there.

"It's…very intimidating," Charles offers when Erik comes close enough for conversation.

"It's krav maga."

"So I've been told when I signed up. You've been teaching for a long time, haven't you?"  
It's an out of the blue question and Erik finds himself slightly startled by it, having expected more mindless comments on the class itself.

"Not too long," Erik says, and startles himself even more when he follows it up. "Just under two years, but I've been training for far longer."

"Military?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

And that's the extent of Erik's self-surprise for the day because honestly, small talk to bad humour is just too big a leap for his crooked little heart to process. Because his brain is obviously broken, Erik finds himself smiling when Charles laughs.

"International man of mystery, Erik Lehnsherr. Next you'll tell me you're a CIA operative sussing out potential super villains in New York."

"Please, I'd be Mossad. And given a personal choice, I'd rather be recruiting them."

"Nefarious." 

Erik holds his water bottle up in a mock toast and turns away before he can make a bigger fool of himself. If his next takedown of Janos is a little more violent than necessary, it's really not his fault.

Also, since _when_ did Erik even tell Charles his last name?

**Author's Note:**

> So uh, I only have a very vague idea of what's going to happen next, which means if there's anything anyone wants to see, I'll be more than happy to comply? 
> 
> Actually no, that's an outright lie. I'd probably shake your hand, emblazon your name on the front of this fic, and buy you a fruit basket, because I'm horrendous with plots. 
> 
> On that note, please don't take anything I write about KM here seriously because I've honestly only done three classes and spend most my time gawking/getting bruised, so yeah, _really_ not the best authority on how to be a badass.


End file.
